


never been in love

by yotsu8a



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Relationships, First Meetings, M/M, Vignette, focuses entirely entirely on ide and matsu; everyone else is just kind of in the bg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotsu8a/pseuds/yotsu8a
Summary: Ide and Matsuda, as defined in a series of events.





	never been in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teethrotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/gifts).



> this is a birthday gift for my wonderful boyfriend dallas whomst i love...
> 
> i don't think any content warning applies here aside from some minor character death, a smidgen of alcohol, and one single, tiny tiny suicide mention near the end regarding a character that isn't even named. pretty tame when compared to the canon material.

**August 2002.**

There’s a new guy, Ide hears from Aizawa one morning. Ide doesn’t pay it much mind at first — he’s paying attention, of course, he just doesn’t think it’ll affect his life to any noticeable degree — because new guys aren’t as novel as the name implies. He’s comfortable with routine, anyways, and all the people that fit into it are placed well enough without needing to make room for another. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to make room for another. A coworker is just that — a coworker. They will occupy the same space and collaborate often enough, but Ide has no interest in looking any further than that. Whoever this newcomer is will serve as a minor fixture in his life until he earns a developed opinion. It probably sounds harsh, but Ide knows well enough not to throw his attention on any person that enters his life. If the new face is competent, he’ll be happy enough. He goes about his day unbothered.

Then a heavy, quickly traveling force slams directly into his chest when Ide is on his way out of the bathroom.

Well, it’s more like he bonks their foreheads together, since that’s what makes contact first, and the next thing Ide knows, he’s jostled back against the door by the impact and has to grab the knob for support. The mostly-empty iced coffee that this force of chaos had been carrying splashes out over his front, causing an unfortunate blemish on Ide’s shirt, and something inside him remarks that he had taken long enough in there as it was without having to wipe himself off in the mirror again. Something else inside him adds that he wishes this guy could’ve run into the door instead of _him_.

“ _Oh_ — oh, I’m so sorry — ”

Ide, yanked out of his internal groaning by his unintentional assailant’s startled apology, snaps his eyelids open and prepares to fix the other man with a very tired glare. He hesitates, because A) he is sure he hasn’t seen this person before and B) he's actually kind of cute, and then he makes the connection. 

He grabs the fabric of his shirt and pulls it out to examine the damage, heaves out a long sigh, and looks back up to the younger man, who is in the middle of offering to buy him a new shirt. Ide makes up his mind to cut him off.

“You’re the newbie, aren’t you.” It isn’t a question; it never is. “What’s your name?”

It works; the inquiry brings the previously unstoppable force to a halt in his tracks. “Matsuda. Matsuda Touta.”

Matsuda. The name sounds very familiar, and of course it does — how could such a careless man make it here without some sort of connection? Maybe Ide is being harsh, but he _liked_ this shirt, dammit — and he concedes anyways. Another purposefully placed sigh. “Just don’t let it happen again and we’re fine, okay?”

The self-acclaimed Matsuda immediately brightens up, and he offers Ide an enthusiastic thumbs up before returning to an overly focused frown. “Now, I’ve got to piss, so, uh — ”

Ide steps out of the way, lets Matsuda through the door, and follows after him. Matsuda stops walking long enough to turn and glance at him.

“Didn’t you just come out of here?”

“I need to clean my shirt up somehow.”

**September 2002.**

Ide finds a newly bought white shirt folded neatly on his desk one morning. He figures out quickly who put it there and why, and the brand is far more expensive than what he normally buys, but it’s not his size. He throws it out.

**31 December 2003.**

The room has dwindled down to five, including Ide himself. It’s a pathetic number, all things considered, but he isn’t surprised. The remaining officers, too, make sense; Aizawa Ide knows better than he knows anything else in the world, well enough to know that Aizawa is unfalteringly brave and loyal and cares more than anyone he’s ever met; Mogi he knows less well, but the man has always been a pillar of stoicism and has never faltered at anything before this; Ukita is brave, like Aizawa is, but to a fault, and overwhelmingly emotional to boot. 

Then there’s Matsuda. Ide isn’t so sure about him.

Ide is halfway through a hushed conversation with Aizawa when Matsuda breaks in, leaning in just a bit too close for Ide’s liking. His grin is nervous but still there, and he asks shakily, “So, what’s going on over here?”  


Ide looks at him for a few moments and replies, “A murder investigation.”

When Ide turns and leaves half an hour later, Matsuda’s not the person on his mind.

**9 October 2004.**

Ide reads in the newspaper that Amane Misa’s manager died after a drunken fall. He doesn’t think anything of it until he spots the look on Aizawa’s face.

“What is it?” he asks, sipping from his coffee mug.

“Matsuda,” Aizawa answers, “was acting as Amane Misa’s manager.”

Ide pauses, stares at the article, and swallows his coffee. There is an unpleasant feeling in his chest, so he downs the rest of the mug even though it burns his mouth. He rests a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder, because some pains are more important than others.

“We’ll avenge him, too.”

**28 October 2004.**

Aizawa calls Ide right as he’s about to head to bed. It’s his tone that changes Ide’s mind; he turns his television on and switches to Sakura TV.

**December 2004.**

Matsuda seats himself next to Ide a good deal heavier than Ide would have preferred, and the couch bounces underneath them. He might have been more annoyed, once, but while the joy that at least _one_ of the people they thought they had lost had made a triumphant return has faded over the months, it isn’t gone yet. His heart still skips a beat every time Matsuda enters his field of vision, and he’s sure this is what it felt like to see a ghost.

“What is it?” Ide is careful to make sure that Matsuda couldn’t possibly misconstrue his tone as irritated and shifts his body in his coworker’s direction.

“It’s good to have you back,” Matsuda answers, and he is all smiles, and Ide manages to return it.

“Well, someone’s got to keep this investigation moving along,” he answers with all the lightness he can muster up. It’s a joke; Matsuda’s mouth twitches like he’s upset, but then he laughs, and Ide is pretty sure it’s just because he’s smiling.

**23 October 2009.**

It’s a shocking betrayal, really, when Aizawa gets up and leaves the room, giving some excuse related to the investigation with reasoning Ide can neither share nor argue with. He doesn’t blame Aizawa at all — it’s a minor offense set up against more than a decade of trust and understanding, and the atmosphere has become noticeably uncomfortable ever since the younger Yagami of the team left to “get some fresh air”. Light has used that excuse before, but for some reason Matsuda had faulted _Ide_ when he had mentioned it for _lacking understanding_. Romantic endeavors have no place in mass murder investigations, especially when they conflict with the investigation; the fact that it is the Chief’s son taking breaks to be with his fiancée makes it no better. If believing that meant Ide was stupid, or had never been in love, well —

“For the record, I _have_ been in love before,” he states, and it’s the second time he’s made that assertion over the span of a few minutes. “Just because I value work ethic doesn’t mean I can’t have romantic feelings for people, and it doesn’t make me _stupid_ , either. And you’re one to talk, calling _me_ stupid.”

It might be a convincing argument if Ide wasn’t so obviously offended by Matsuda’s earlier comment, and Matsuda, for his part, stares at Ide like he has no clue what he’s talking about for a good few seconds. Finally, he breaks into a grin. 

“Oh, you’re still thinking about that?” He says it too damn _cheerily_. Ide almost wants to punch him. “I didn’t think you were so upset — ” bull-fucking- _shit_ “ — but I guess it makes sense that you’re embarrassed!”

“I am _not_ — ”

“You don’t have to be shy about it around me, though, Ide! We’re friends, right? You can just be honest.” Anyone who calls Matsuda Touta innocent or sweet has to be dense as pig shit, Ide decides, because his tone is downright _brutal_. He probably _thinks_ he’s just teasing, but it fucking _stings_. “Do you want me to give you some pointers? I know all about the _ladies_. I could be like a mentor! … Maybe that’d be a little weird since I’m, like, nine years younger than you are? But trust me! I’m mature about these things — more than you are, I bet — and — ”

Ide had tuned out after Matsuda made the implication that he was attracted to women in the slightest, and after a few more seconds of the other man’s teasing (although he’s fairly certain the offer he’s making isn’t entirely in jest), he stands up and announces that he’s going to go see if Aizawa needs any assistance. Flirting techniques have no place in mass murder investigations. 

**1 November 2009.**

“I’ll make the deal for the eyes.”

The offer, nervous and overly enthusiastic, yanks the room out of silence, thick and ominous, and into something far more erratic and terrifying, a sharp thudding in Ide’s chest. Somehow it comes as a surprise, but he doesn’t know _why_ , because Matsuda has always been rash and stupid — rash and stupid, yes, but Ide hadn’t pegged him down as so _self-sacrificial_. The other man’s name wrenches its way out of his throat, but then he freezes, and he is only half-listening to the rest of Matsuda’s explanation. It feels familiar — he is sitting at his desk, work has yet to start, Aizawa is there and they are reading a newspaper article about some idiot who got drunk at a party and fell to his death, except this time his hands are shaking, too. 

A lifespan halved. And there’s that rule — thirteen days. He won’t be able to continue for thirteen days. A halved lifespan won’t matter then.

Unless the time he has left is really so short.

“All we need to do is hide our faces, and there’s no way that we’ll fail,” Matsuda finishes, arms outstretched.

Ide Hideki is a hypocrite. Ide Hideki cannot stand to be a hypocrite. His throat is tight.

“I guess you’re right…”

(It is the Chief, ultimately, who takes the eyes, and while it hits like a thunderbolt, Ide is ashamed of the _relief_ he feels, and he cannot shake the tense, cold feeling in his chest, cannot shake Matsuda’s proposed suicide mission, his own ready acceptance — cannot shake Aizawa’s shocked reaction, because of course Aizawa would be against it. Of course Aizawa would be shocked at his response. Ide was ready and willing to sign Matsuda's death warrant.)

**11 November 2009.**

The current L’s voice cuts off, and Ide is left staring down at the scorched rubble that had, up until mere seconds before, been the Mafia’s hideout. For a moment he feels like he might faint, and then he and Mogi make eye contact and he is brought back to reality and his entire body feels like fire. 

“Do you need any help?” he manages out, finally. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Mogi’s voice is a grunt. Ide can hear the strain in it for once, but Mogi seems insistent, and he knows well enough that the other man is perfectly capable on his own. 

“A-are you sure Aizawa is okay?”

“No. I’ll do what I can. We’ll see what the doctors say.” Mogi’s voice is not unkind, but he softens further at Ide’s lack of response. “Let’s hope for the best. It’s out of your hands now — don’t worry about it. Focus on getting the notebooks.”

Ide watches him retreat towards the cars in silence. He wants to lie down and stay there for a long time, but he can’t, not now — there are things to be done. It is too late now to give up.

And besides, he isn’t alone. 

Ide turns and trudges over to Matsuda, kneeling down next to the other man and resting a hand on his shoulder. He’s averse to physical contact, generally, but that isn’t important anymore. The other man shifts underneath his hand and pushes himself up until he’s sitting facing him. Ide can make out his eyes, blurry and hurt and scared, from underneath his visor. The events of ten days ago echo in his head, and he almost feels his heart stop.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Matsuda mumbles weakly, and Ide is a hypocrite.

“You will be,” he says, and it is something between an order and a plea.

**12 November 2009.**

It is just past midnight, and they are the last two people on the roof. 

Ide’s first thought, after he finished grappling with the reality of Yagami Soichiro’s death, had been that Aizawa should’ve been there for it. His second thought had been less of a _thought_ and more of a profound _worry_ for Matsuda, who had practically thrown himself over the remaining Yagami in what seemed like an attempt to restrain him (or comfort him, or both). He had tried to push aside the worry — for the time being, at least — because it made him feel like a hypocrite. Now they are alone, and Ide Hideki is very much worried, and is very much a hypocrite. 

“This is wrong,” Matsuda whispers. “I should’ve…”

“No,” Ide says, because he doesn’t know what else to say besides that Matsuda is _wrong_ , that no matter _what_ they lost tonight, _he_ is still alive and breathing and that’s all that matters to Ide. It is hypocritical, and Ide knows that it is hypocritical, but he doesn’t care. Maybe he will tomorrow, but _now_ — now he does not.

He hugs Matsuda, and he does not let go for a very long time.

**18 November 2009.**

“A-about what I said earlier…”

Ide pauses, footfall halting against concrete. He isn’t in the mood to talk, really — the day’s events have put him in a foul mood, and Matsuda has been doing the opposite of helping. He still turns to look at him, though, and struggles to look less exhausted than he feels.

“You know, Ide, I…” Matsuda swallows visibly, hands picking nervously at the bandages covering his arm. Ide wants to tell him to stop it before he hurts himself. “I don’t … _want_ Kira to win. We’re fighting against Kira, and I get that. I’m not going to turn traitor or anything. Not after the Chief…” He trails off, biting his lip.

Ide looks at him. “But…?”

“B-but what?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.” Ide lightly swats Matsuda’s hand down in attempt to stop the incessant picking, ignoring the way the other man tenses at the touch. “You say that like there’s a ‘but’.”

“N-no!” Matsuda laughs nervously, raising his hand to rub at the back of his head instead. “No but’s. I just…” His smile falters. “I just don’t want you guys to think I’m going to turn traitor or something. Aizawa probably thinks I will. Whenever something goes wrong, he thinks I have something to do with it — well, I guess he’s right about that, but it’s not like I do it on _purpose_. I wouldn’t … betray you guys, or anything like that.”

Ide lets Matsuda’s claim hang in the air for a few moments, thinking it over but not doubting it. “You don’t have to tell me that, Matsuda. I know you’re not that type of person. Aizawa knows, too, he just hasn’t figured out how to treat you yet.”

“We’ve known each other for years…”

“And you’re still just as hard for him to predict,” Ide adds, half in jest and omitting the fact that _he’s_ still figuring Matsuda out, too. The other man, for his part, has the good humor to laugh, but it’s gone just as soon as it came. 

“I’m in this until the end,” Matsuda says, finally. “I want to see this through. I want to beat Kira. It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I’m not saying I don’t sympathize, but if you’re looking for someone to comfort you or tell you why Kira is evil and we’re fighting the good fight, I’m not the person you should come to,” Ide replies bluntly. “I think that Kira is terrible and all, sure. He’s a mass murderer and he’s got more power than any person should have. I’m not in this for justice, though. If you want an inspirational speech about why Kira needs to be stopped, you should ask Aizawa.”

The only response he gets at first is an awkward laugh, then a period of silence. Then Matsuda looks at him again. 

“So why are _you_ here, then, Ide?”

Because people are being killed and _someone_ has to do something about it. Because it’s his job to catch criminals, even if the public worships them. Because Kira killed Ukita Hirokazu. Because Kira killed Yagami Soichiro. Because Aizawa is here. Because he is a hypocrite, and always has been.

Ide shrugs. “The alternative is to let a mass murderer control the world.”

**22 December 2009.**

The door swings shut behind Aizawa, and Ide pulls off his headset. He is smiling; it’s the first in a long time, and the fact that he has something to smile about is cause enough for celebration. It’s been long enough.

“I can’t believe Light convinced Takada to turn against Kira, now of all times… That’s some feat.”

“I mean, this is _Light_ we’re talking about. Of course he did,” Matsuda replies cheerfully, lifting up his own headset and using the other hand to wipe off his forehead. “It’s great, but I’m disappointed that Takki didn’t get more upset about Misa-Misa.”

“She’s a human being, not a TV character, Matsuda,” Ide states, the grin falling from his face. “And even if it’s for the investigation, Light’s still cheating on them both. You shouldn’t be enjoying it so much.”

Matsuda pouts. “Hey, I already _told_ you, I’m not the one doing it!”

“You certainly don’t seem too concerned that _Light_ is.”

“It’s for the investigation, you said so yourself.”

“And you act like it’s a _romance movie_!”

Matsuda sticks his tongue out at him, and Ide thinks that Aizawa would definitely disapprove if he hadn’t left already. Then Matsuda puts his tongue back in his mouth and adds, “You _still_ don’t know how romance works, Ide. And I’ve been trying so hard to teach you…”

A couple of months ago Ide might have argued that he _does_ know how romance works and he definitely does _not_ need Matsuda’s help figuring it out, but he isn’t so sure anymore. That doesn’t mean he appreciates the attitude, though. He’s a little hurt, too, but god knows he can’t tell Matsuda that.

“That’s because you’re a bad teacher.”

“I am _not_!” There’s that tongue again. Ide tries not to stare at it too much. “Maybe I’m just using the wrong method…”

“You have something else in mind?” Their faces are very close.

“Maybe… You’re sure you’ve been in love before, Ide?” Matsuda’s lips look very soft.

“Yes.” _I’ve never been more sure._

“Then I’ll have to set you up with a girl sometime!”

Ide can barely keep himself from kicking Matsuda’s chair out from under him. 

**1 January 2010.**

It is very late — soon it won’t even be New Year’s anymore — and Matsuda broke out the spirits a good few hours ago. It is just the two of them and Matsuda’s dog, alone at his house; Ide would normally have grabbed drinks with Aizawa the night before, but the night before had been busy, and Aizawa hasn’t been in the mood for drinks in a very long time. Not that Ide can blame him.

“You know, Matsuda, I don’t actually like women,” Ide tries to say, but the other man has passed out when he turns to look for a reaction.

**28 January 2010, pt 1.**

“Let’s go in,” Light says.

Ide and Matsuda exchanges glances. There is a tightening in Ide’s chest.

**28 January 2010, pt 2.**

Yagami Light is dead and the tightness in Ide’s chest has only gotten worse.

It is dreadfully quiet now. The warehouse is gone, and so is Kira’s body; the SPK are dealing with his accomplice and Mogi is dealing with his corpse, and Aizawa and Near are probably dealing with each other. It doesn’t matter. What matters, what _matters_ is that Ide is _out_ of that place now, and Matsuda is with him, and neither of them will _ever_ go back there again. 

The car pulls to a stop in Matsuda’s driveway and Ide turns to look at him. He hates driving, but _someone_ had to get the man home. Matsuda seems completely unaware of the favor he’s been done, but Ide doesn’t care, because it _isn’t_ a favor, not really. He needs it, too. 

“We’re here,” he breathes.

Matsuda moves for the first time since they got in the car, head shifting slightly and eyes, empty and cold, fixing themselves on Ide. He doesn’t speak.

“I-I can come in with you, if you want. You probably shouldn’t be alone,” Ide says, realizing, suddenly, that his hands have not stopped shaking since the life drained out of Kira’s body. 

Matsuda, looking just as dead, speaks for the first time in just as long. “Don’t.”

Ide is waiting for Matsuda to break again, to start crying and screaming and ripping hair from his skull, to tell Ide through wails what it’s like to know that your friend had been lying to you, had been lying to you for _years_ , had been exactly what you thought you were fighting against, had been the thing that led someone you both loved to his death — to tell Ide what it’s like for a friend to die and it to be your fault. 

Matsuda does not break, though. Matsuda stays quiet, stares at him with the same glazed-over look in his eyes, and Ide feels nauseous. Ide feels nauseous and he has felt nauseous for hours now; because yes, they have caught Kira, but there is no happiness in it. He had hoped that they would be able to smile when it was all over, but now it is over and all he wants to do is cry because he still feels _helpless_. He has felt helpless for hours now, and that’s one of the worst parts of it. During the entirety of their confrontation at the warehouse, Ide had felt, agonizingly, like he was merely playing the part of an observer — and it was all the more painful since his life was on the line. He had been almost entirely sure, for a time, that he was going to die there, that he would never find his way out of that abandoned place, that he and the people he cared about would be murdered right then and there, and that would be the end of it.

It is over now and he is still terrified. 

Ide looks at Matsuda for a long time, contemplates insisting on staying with him, and finally concedes. “Alright. I’ll come back and check on you later, okay?”

(And he does come back to check on him, and they _do_ end up at the Yellow Box Warehouse again, but those are both stories for another day.)

**February 2013.**

“Ridiculous,” Matsuda mutters, slumping down onto Ide’s couch. He pulls at his tie and motions lazily for Ide to join him. “And here, I thought Near was going to let _us_ deal with this new Kira… Asshole.”

“I don’t see how you can fault him this time, Touta,” Ide comments as he seats himself at Matsuda’s side. He’s nervous, but not due to the conversation — they’re just very _close_ now, and he hasn’t quite figured out how to deal with casual physicality yet. “You blame L for everything.”

“Not _everything_. A dent just showed up in my car door, and that’s definitely _your_ fault,” Matsuda jokes, but his expression shifts back to a frown immediately afterwards. “I mean, isn’t it _obvious_? Near finally acknowledges the new Kira on live television, and then all the killings suddenly stop a few days later? The timing is too damn _convenient_ , don’t you think? I bet Near found the guy and had him arrested in secret. I guess L did that, too, but he should at least have the decency not to _pretend_ he’s going to let us handle it…”

“I don’t think that’s the case.” Ide’s voice is measured, level. “He’s been in contact with Aizawa since then, you know. Apparently L’s theory is that C-Kira killed himself after L denounced him.”

“Sure, that _is_ what he’d tell you.”

“Touta,” Ide sighs, “the Mikami theory I can accept. The Mello theory might be totally fabricated, but I can see how you could convince yourself. But _this_ — this is getting a little ridiculous. You can’t just keep acting like L — ”

“He isn’t L, he’s _Near_ , Ryuzaki was L — ”

“L, Near, N, Nate River. Whatever. Not everything has to be a conspiracy theory that traces back to him, you know? I know _why_ you don’t like him, and I get it, but he didn’t plan all this out. Next you’re going to tell me you think he was Kira all along or something like that.”

Matsuda is quiet; then, finally, he offers a small, weak smile. “Maybe.”

“Bad things just happen, Touta. It doesn’t always have to be someone’s fault.” Ide presses his hand against Matsuda’s.

“I guess so.” Matsuda shrugs; he squeezes Ide’s hand and glances to the window. The sun is setting. “It just … it just isn’t _fair_. Everything still feels like it turned out all wrong.”

“Everything _didn’t_ turn out all wrong,” Ide insists. Matsuda turns to look at him, his grip tight. “After all, we’re both here, aren’t we?”

Matsuda kisses him, and Ide realizes that being a hypocrite paid off, just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> i guess i could have included this in our post-kira task force series bc of the ending bit, but 99% of this takes place before the kira case ended... so i'm leaving this as, technically, a standalone fic. if you want to check out the aforementioned series, though: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1070025
> 
> http://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
